Me and BFE

So. This weekend I went overnight to the middle part of Louisiana (CenLa as it’s commonly known) for a family reunion. Or, as I like to call it: re-onion. If you think about Louisiana being shaped like a boot, where I went was just above the instep where your foot curves up to begin your shin. If you’re really feeling adventurous, type ‘Bordelonville, LA’ into Google Maps to see exactly where we went.

Anyway, there’s really nothing in Bordelonville – hence the BFE part of the title of this post – save for a fire station, so I stayed with the family in the nearest town with more than a hint of life in it: Marksville. We stayed in the only motel in town aside from the hotel attached to the casino run by the Tunica-Biloxi Indians. It was an old motel, but it had pretty modern conveniences. I mean they had cable tv so I couldn’t fault them for not having WiFi. This was, in my opinion, our first real grown-up get away as a family. Since we’re all adults now, I thought we could get two rooms rather than all cramming into one. Especially since we brought the dogs along. So I shared a room with my mother and the dogs while my brother and father were next door. I did not sleep well at all. I had just a little slivver of bed to sleep on as queen size beds aren’t very big for two adults and two dogs who do not sleep at your feet. While I’ve always loved staying at hotels, the beds leave much to be desired when it comes to comfort. I can honestly say I’ve stayed in only two hotels to date with beds I wish I could have at home.

Yesterday morning we woke up and after being in the upright (but not necessarily awake and functioning) position, the power went out. Greaaaaat! I’d taken the dogs out for a wee at 5:30 a.m. so it was mom’s turn. When she came back, she had news about the power outage: there’d been an accident overnight right in front of the motel and the driver had smashed into a utility pole. The local power company were prompt in their response to repair it, but neglected to tell the motel owners who could inform their guests. So we dressed as best we could and went to McDonald’s for breakfast. No Waffle House which sorely disappointed me. About 10 minutes after we returned from breakfast, the power came back on. Yays!

We packed up the vehicles and followed the meandering highway to Bordelonville. This area of the state is where my paternal grandfather was from and the reason for the reunion here. Apparently, there is a small Baptist church that our family, along with another that one of my grandfather’s sisters married into, were charter members of and they were celebrating their 165th anniversary. So we went there and had lunch with the small congregation then went back to my cousin’s house for a bit of chatting. The day was quite lovely so it wasn’t much of an effort to sit under the massive oak trees and enjoy the breeze.

I will stop here with the tale so that I can tell you of my family’s kookie-ness. One of my great-aunts is buried in the church’s cemetery. Unnecessarily so because she’s cremated. But it’s not just that she’s cremated and buried that makes this so kookie. As is common practice when someone is cremated, the remains are in an urn. And that urn is in a plain wooden box. I’m not exactly sure who put the remains into the box, but someone else decided that the whole thing should be put into an Igloo. And that ashes-inside-urn-inside-box-inside-Igloo is what has been dropped into the ground. Oh, and if that wasn’t enough, she’s got a second grave site here in New Orleans awaiting her visit. Name on the marble slab and everything. Gotta love my kookie family!!!

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